It all started with Mushroom Stew
by Guille van Cartier
Summary: Uncle Bingle's secret recipe brings many surprises. Frodo learns this when the recipe resurfaces and Uncle Bilbo disappears! Can he find him? AU, NO SLASH, WIP
1. Uncle Bingle

A/N: Okay, people who actually are reading this, I have a bit of a warning for you: this is the product of my sister's and my own "creativity". The story might be a bit weird sometimes and I have an explanation for that: I did the first paragraph, my sister did the second, and we kept on alternating. It may be obvious sometimes that one did not understand the other between paragraphs, and that's becuase we disallowed ourselves from communicating our paragraphs to one another. We learned what the hell was happening when it was our turn and we interpreted it the way we thought it was. And, it wasn't always right. Oh yeah, and there were ten minute gaps between each spell. So there. Enjoy. Remember: Alternate Universe.

The light filtered into the small round room of Bag End, where Bilbo lay sleeping at his writing desk. Drool bubbled in his mouth and popped. He had obviously had a long day.  
Frodo, as noiselessly as hobbitly possible, opened the door to the study. Eyeing Bilbo nervously, he crossed the room and attempted to pull a slip of paper from beneath the sleeping hobbit's arm. No luck. Sighing he decided to call on the help of his faithful gardener, Samwise Gamgee.  
"Mr. Frodo Sir," Sam started, wringing his fingers into nervous knots, "I'm not sure if I can do this, sir. I'm not as quiet as I would like to be. What if Mr. Bilbo woke up? He'd have half a mind to switch me, if you know my meaning, sir."  
"Oh Sam," Frodo began, "Bilbo won't wake, you know that it's near impossible to wake him when he decides to take a nap. Besides, that note is really important. It has my great uncle's recipe for mushroom stew."  
Sam held back the saliva at the thought; saying that Great Uncle Bingle's mushroom stew was well known around hobbiton was a great understatement. Bingle the genius's stew was known for it's wonderful taste and the sweet dreams they created during an after dinner nap. Some people claimed him some sort of sorcerer and kept a suspicious eye upon him until his untimely death. He had taken a fall off of Bucklebury ferry. Since then, the delicious mushroom stew has hardly been made. No one knew how to make it like uncle Bingle!  
"Yes Sam, my great uncle Bingle," Frodo said, seeing the dreamy look on Sam's face. "And if you help me get it, I promise to split it with you, fifty fifty."  
"But Mr. Frodo, sir," said Sam, still unsure, "you can't make a stew with half the recipe. That's not how it works, sir!"  
"Oh Sam, you're right, how could I forget. I suppose what Rosie said was true!"  
Sam paled somewhat. "Rosie said somethin' about me, Mr. Frodo?"  
"Not about you, Sam, about me. She said something the other day and I thought she was just joking. But, it seems to me that it might be true. Oh Sam, I fear for myself!"  
"Mr. Frodo, sir, is something wrong?" Sam said, his tone alarmed. He put a consoling hand on his master's shoulders. "Would me getting that recipe help you any?"  
"Of course Sam. Don't you remember the rumors of Bingle's magic curing mushroom stew? It's that same recipe that my dear uncle Bilbo has securely under his arm. Oh Sam, I'm sorry to bring you into this, but I just have to have that recipe!" Frodo said, becoming distressed.  
Sam started to shake a little. Mr. Frodo, sick? That was horrible! What was it, he wondered, that would worry him so horribly? He must be hurt bad. Sam looked at his master with quiet worry. He looked pale already. Was he sweating? Oh, Mr. Frodo, I'll get you that recipe if it meant the death of me!  
Bilbo shifted slightly in his sleep, frightening the two hobbits. A strange note seemed to come from outside the window next to the writing desk. Sam took a few uneasy steps toward it, his curiosity and overprotectiveness mingling with fear of Bilbo's awakening and the source of the peculiar noise.  
He could have sworn that the floorboards had something against him; it seemed every step he took caused an explosion of some sort beneath the creaking wood. Trickles of sweat ran down his paling face as Bilbo and his desk came closer into reach. That paper seemed to mock him from its place beneath the old hobbit's arm.  
"Wooooooo," the window wailed, "Don't come any closer, hobbit. Or else, you'll feel my wrath. Wooooo." Sam froze. How odd that the window pane would have such a familiar voice. Now where had he heard it before?  
Sam stopped in his tracks, listening closely as the shutters of the open window seemed to shake with the warnings. After several moments, his task was somewhat forgotten, and an animosity of some sort was evident by the dynamic frown that controlled his mouth. With crossed arms he strayed away from his earlier destination, right to the window adjacent, and pushed open the round panes, allowing the cool dusk breeze to waft in. Along with the wind, the voice seemed a bit louder with the opening of the window.  
"Dooooon't dooooo that, I say, you should keep me cloooooosed, or else...or else you might get a cold, noooooow!" Sam's frown deepened as he looked down at the hobbit below, crouched beneath the window. Said hobbit saw Sam and immediately threw its hands over its head and face, trying to hide its identity, whilst the bush beside him quivered in laughter.  
"You little stinker!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing Pippin's pointed ear and pulling the tween up until their faces were level. Peregrin was still trying to hide his face with his hands, his frightened eyes peeking through the cracks between his small fingers.  
"Let the little hobbit go," another voice proclaimed, "he has noooothing toooo dooo with thissss." Sam eyed the bush and a grin appeared on his face. Three guesses who the one in the bush was.  
"Well, I suppose it's your fault then, Slinker?" asked Sam, and he pushed Pippin hard into the talking bush. Pergrin yelped, as did another hobbit that rolled out of the bush. The two ended up in a tangled heap at the foot of the hill, leaving behind them flattened grass and the mangled remains of the bush. Sam flinched. Poor plants.  
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Frodo asked, appearing by Sam's side and leaning out the window to look at the two tangled hobbits. He was smiling.  
"Ah, Frodo!" Pippin said, trying his best to unsnarl his scarf from Merry's neck, his look guilty and pained. "We were just...me and Merry were doing...doing..." he paused, a strained look on his youthful face. He turned to his comrade. "What were we doing Merry?"  
"Doing, we weren't doing anything. We were walking home when we heard this strange voice talking...and...uh...it was all Pip's idea!" Merry pointed vehemently and Pippin stared at Merry indignantly.  
"I have no idea what this scheming prankster is talking about!" He claimed, pointing an accusing finger at his companion. "I was walking by and he was in the bushes, whispering. I went over and tried to stop him and Merry pushed me under the window. Little blighter."  
"What?!? Stop lying to them Pip! Don't you remember the last time you lied?! You were stuck in bed for a week!" Pippin paled. "So, I suggest you just admit that you forced me to do it and save yourself the trouble of messing with **you know what** again."  
Pippin coughed uneasily into his hand, and looked back up at the glaring Samwise and the waiting Frodo. He nodded his head defeatedly and made his way up to the window.  
"Well...um...well, it's kinda like this, you see...um...Merry here heard that...that well, Mr. Bilbo..." Pippin looked uneasily at the sleeping hobbit, "well, he heard that Bilbo had a mushroom stew recipe and we really really wanted it!" The last half came out exceptionally fast. "And well, Merry came out with this plan and all..." Pippin looked down at his hobbity feet and shuffled them restlessly. He didn't look up; instead looking in Merry's direction, pleading with his eyes for his companion to save him and continue the narrative.  
Merry frowned, but sighed and told them about deciding to open the window and stealing the recipe and running before Bilbo knew it was gone. As he spoke he was glaring at Pippin with an odd look on his face. He was obviously not too happy.  
Pippin smiled widely; he apparently thought he had just accomplished something grand. He looked like he was about to say something when Bilbo once again stirred, the conversation and cool breeze rousing him slowly.  
Frodo eyed his uncle with a concerned uncertainty, and he put a quieting finger to his lips. All hobbits inside and out stopped moving their lips and vibrating their vocal cords. Frodo motioned for Sam to move from the window.  
Merry also started to back away from the window, but Pippin, thinking nothing of Bilbo's stirring, started to climb clumsily through the window. The others mouthed silent shouts of protest, but to no avail; the preoccupied Took continued on.  
Pippin, one short leg halfway through the round portal, lost balance and fell, yelping loudly and grabbing onto whatever, down onto the floorboards, which seemed to explode beneath his weight. His groping fingers had, coincidentally, found themselves clutched around one end of the sacred recipe, ripping the one half of the paper off from under the hobbit's arm.  
"Oww," Pippin said, rubbing his head gently, trying to ease the pain of the fall. "That really hurt. Now what's this?" he asked, noticing the piece of paper in his hand. "Wow!! Merry, look! It's the recipe, that's what it is!!" He exclaimed excitedly. "Look Merry, look!!" Pippin started hopping eagerly, but was quieted by Merry's incensed glare. Pippin's gaze moved to Frodo and Sam, both of which wore the same look. Pippin stared back, innocently confused.  
"Confusticate you!" Sam hissed, dragging Pippin to his face with such a frightening look that even Frodo was a bit taken aback.  
"Hey! Hey! What're you doing?!" Pippin asked a tad bit too loud. Bilbo lifted his head slightly, staring at nothing, silencing all other hobbits in the room.  
No one dared to move, no one dared to speak; Merry stared from the outside, sweat dripping from his nose, obviously nervous. Of all of the hobbits, he was nearest in Bilbo's sight, since Pippin was pulled away. He stood, motionless, amongst the remains of the bush that he and Pip had taken to crushing, unsure of whether he should run, or risk Bilbo's return to sleep.  
"Wow, look at this guys, the recipe uses Withywindle 'shrooms...I remember something funny about them...um..." Sam quickly placed an angered hand over Pippin's mouth. Bilbo turned his head in the direction of the pair, looking them over with glazed eyes. Sam tensed, and Pippin stared on again in confusion. Bilbo rested his head on the desk again. Everyone sighed.  
"Nimrod," Merry said, climbing in, much more successfully, through the large window. "I swear, Pip, you're so clumsy sometimes."  
"Clumsy? Me? Since when have I been clumsy?" Merry rolled his eyes. "Hey! Now I remember! They were the green 'shrooms, weren't they Mer?"  
"What 'bout them, Clumsy?"  
"Well, remember when we were six, and you ate one? And you had to drink all that stuff!!!! WOW! Withywindle 'shrooms. That's why we could never get it right! Nobody'd ever put those 'shrooms in a stew....and yet..."  
Merry put a finger on his chin. "Yes...I remember that one time...I also remember seeing a lot of things that weren't there." He shuddered horribly. "Didn't stop until I took a nap. It made my sore toe stop hurting though. Felt weird."  
Frodo and Sam looked at the two incredulously. Seeing as how nothing was sure to stop them now, they headed out the door and out of immediate danger. Merry and Pippin chatted on.  
Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo. We would've had that recipe by now had I not just left the two blighters to play their games in the bushes."  
"That's alright Sam, I'm sure they'll give it to us if and when they remember about it." Frodo sighed. "I hope Bilbo doesn't realize it's gone until then..."  
"Well," Sam said, scratching his chin, "there's still that other half we have to deal with. Pippin ripped it all the way through. There is still a little under Bilbo's arm, and I'm not sure if I want to touch Bilbo now."  
"Yes, that's true..." Frodo wondered how to explain the ripped recipe to Bilbo. He was at his fifth potential excuse when Pippin and Merry rushed out of the room and collided with him.  
"'Scuse us, Frodo," Merry said, tripping over his friend's feet and making his way across the hall. Pippin was acting rather jumpy, and the ripped piece was clutched nonchalantly in his shaking hands.  
"Bye Frodo, come visit us soon!" Pippin yelled back as both hobbits scurried down the hall, "But now that I think of it, you probably won't be able to, seeing as-OUCH!!! Why'd you hit me Merry?!?"  
"Shut it, Pip," He hissed. "They'll figure it soon enough!"  
"Well anyway, bye Frodo!"  
Sam swore at the two, shaking his fist vehemently up in the air. As the two disappeared out of sight with the creak of the front door, Sam pulled Frollo off the wooden boards of the floor. "What d'you reckon that was about, Mr. Frodo?"  
"I don't know Sam, but I'm afraid to find out. I think we better leave here as well..." Sam nodded.  
As soon as the round door shut behind them, an explosion of noise sounded from the study. The two weren't very sure whether it was Bilbo or some other beast, but it sounded rather angry. Sam and Frodo moved as quickly as they could away from Bag End. They headed down the way to the Green Dragon, and halfway through they slowed down and took in all that surrounded them. The sun was almost completely below the horizon.

* * *

The Green Dragon was alive with energy. All the young hobbits deemed old enough for the privilege of alcohol consumption were there, drinking to their little heart's content or chatting with the friends and ladies that chose to talk to them. It was the social center of the town, and Frodo and Sam weren't surprised to find Merry and Pippin dancing on top of the table singing yet another one of their numerous drinking songs.  
They made their way to their usual table, Frodo getting up and ordering two mugs, Sam too bashful to go over to Rosie. As they sipped their ales and discussed the recipe and any schemes to get it back from the two drunken blockheads that stood, surrounded, their drinking song coming to a close. Sam glared at them from the corner of his eye. He still wondered just what happened at the study.  
"Frodo!" Pippin called, waving a mug of beer in his direction, "When'd you get here? What happened between you and Bilbo and Gandalf? He didn't get mad acha, did he? You didn't tell him nothing, didja? Because if you did, I didn't do anything! It was all Merry's idea!"  
With a drunken swing of his arm, Merry sent Pippin flying off the table onto his already sore behind. "It was Pippin, Frodo. His fault entirely. I wasn't the one who woke up Bilbo."  
"No, that was Gandalf!" Pippin yelled up, "and if I remember right, you were the one that woke up Gandalf!" Merry looked at Pippin, "and that elf!! Hey Merry, do you remember the elf? Wow! He was like, this tall!" Pippin jumped off his seat on the floor and stretched as high up as he could, "'Cept he was taller! Wow, an elf!"  
Merry hiccuped. "Yes, Pip. An elf. A tall elf; much taller than you could ever reach. Anywho...What about Bilbo? I thought you woked up Bilbo..." He hiccuped again. Apparently, the effects of the alcohol were starting to take hold of him. He must have consumed quite a bit; it took a lot to make either Merry or Pippin drowsy.  
"No, no, no I sayed that was Gandalf. 'Member? When he got mad atcha 'bout dropping 'is pipe? Y'know, the really pretty one? And then 'e made all the stuff all black and stuff and he was really loud? And then the elf talked in that language. Didn't sound like elf though, sound like other stuff...and...Oh yeah, Frodo, lookie what I got! Lookie!" Pippin excitedly showed the pair the other half of the 'shroom stew recipe.  
Sam and Frodo stood up at the sudden appearance of the paper scrap. "Give that here, you little stinker!" Sam exclaimed pushing back his chair and rushing at the swaggering hobbit.  
"Now wait justa second there. Me and Mer 'ere got the respy first, so you got to wait! 'Sides, whatcha gonna do with it, anywho?"  
"If it's any of your bloomin' business," Sam started, reaching for the piece which Pippin did very well at keeping from his reach, "it's for Mr. Frodo. He's got an ailment of some sort and he needs it!"  
"Ale? Of course! Thanky Sammy! You were always a good fri **hic** fri **hic** end!"  
Pippin raised a hand in the air. "Rosie, brings us some ale right 'ere, kay? Sam's buying!"  
"I'm not buying! Will you please just listen! Merry! Pippin! I said Mr. Frodo needs it! Are you even listening to me!?! I said we don't want more a... oh hi...a...Rosie...how're you today...uh...yeah, those for us? Well, I'll just...uh...take those...Thank you! Bye Rosie...bye."  
Sam was completely red in the face, waving sheepishly as Rosie turned away from the scene, smiling. When she took her place behind the counter, Sam took the ale and looked sourly at Pip, who was chortling merrily on the floor. "You want your ale, do ya?" Sam asked angrily.  
"Why thanks master Sammy!" Pippin reached up for the mug, which Sam accidentally dropped on Pippin's head, soaking him. The mug hit him hard, bringing him to his senses, if only for a split second. Pippin licked his lips. "Wow, I didn't realize b'fore, but I taste really nice!"  
"F'you don't give us that recipe right now, Pip, I'm going to find a wild animal who can second that feeling!"  
"Yeah, I know whatcha mean, but don' tell him I said that! I swear, sometimes, when he's 'ad a lil too much to drink, he kinda goes... "  
Sam lifted a solid fist at the young hobbit, but Frodo stopped him before anything could happen, asking him just what he was about to do. "I'm gonna put him out of my misery," the hobbit replied, his eyebrows lowered in animosity.  
"Too late Sam," Frodo said softly, "look, I think he just fell asleep." Sam looked over at Pippin, who was now slumped double on the floor, snoring lightly. "I wonder how many he had. I always thought a Took never got inebriated. At least he lasted longer than Merry..."  
On the round wooden table, Merry had buckled down, unconscious. Sam sighed, shrugged his round shoulders, then bent over and pried open Pippin's relaxed fingers. Sam scratched his head thoughtfully, then searched through Pippin's clothing. He smashed a defeated fist down on the floor. "Confusticate that little...AARGH! Where's the other half, by thunder!?"  
Frodo paled. "It's not there?! Sam, it's got to be there! Bilbo will....Bilbo...Sam, we've got to find it!" Frodo and Sam started to search the surrounding area frantically. "Oh Sam! We'll never find it!"  
The search continued frenziedly, right until Sam remembered Merry snoring peacefully on the table. With a wide smile, he stood up and reached over to the hobbit's vest pocket. But, before he could find whatever was hidden in there, thunder flashed and a tall figure appeared at the door of the pub.  
"Hello," he greeted smiling sweetly. It seemed Merry and Pippin's elf had been real. "I'm looking for a pair of hobbits, have you seen them?" he asked the hobbit nearest the door. The look on his face was one of extreme mistrust. The elf didn't seem to notice. "Mr. Baggins sent me to find them. He said that he needed to talk to them very badly." He looked around looking for them, while waiting for an answer it seemed that no one was willing to give to the tall stranger.  
The outsider eyed all the short people in the pub, all seemingly little more than children to him, with a smile that was pleasantly unsettling. Sam stared at the back, his hand floating just over Merry's pocket.  
The elf's eyes settled on the quartet, and he started to walk towards the group happily. "Do you happen to know anyone by the name of Frodo Baggins?" he asked Sam pleasantly. "I'm afraid that Mithrandir didn't give me a very clear description of him. He said a Mr. Gamgee would be with him...I don't suppose you know who they are, do you?" Sam didn't meet the elf's eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked. "It's okay, I won't hurt you."  
"Mr. Fro-I mean me and my buddy here don't know what you're talking about, Mr. elf...sir..." Sam stammered, "But, Y'know, maybe, maybe you should...I..."  
"It's okay, master hobbit," that unsettling smile again... "I suppose they're not here then. Too bad though, Mr. Baggins really wanted to talk to them. Will you do me a favor then, kind sir? If you happen to see either Mr. Baggins, or Mr. Gamgee, or both of them together, would you give them this?" he handed Sam a small white envelope. "He said it was very important. Well, I guess if you haven't seen them, then I'll have to search elsewhere. Fare thee well, my friends." And he left the pub skipping.  
Sam was left, blinking, flustered on the bar's floor. Apparently the sight of the elf was s little overwhelming at that moment. He was smiling at himself as he turned, half-confused, half-frightened, and a teensy excited, back to Merry's pocket.  
"What do you suppose he was about, Sam?" Sam suddenly remembered Frodo standing next to him. He shrugged his shoulders, reaching into Merry's pocket, pulling out a torn slip of paper. "Is that the other half?" Sam placed both papers together and saw that they fit perfectly.  
"Yes, Mr. Frodo," he said. He was barely able to hold both halves together, his excitement had gone to new heights. "Can you imagine," he mumbled to himself, "a real life elf! I'd always wanted to see one, and I did. Odd... I didn't feel like I thought I would..." There was a bit of disappointment in his thoughts, but nevertheless, the elf and the papers made him feel wonderful. "We have the recipe, Mr. Frodo, sir. Now we can cure whatever's ailing you."  
"Yes...I suppose we can. Um, Sam, what did the elf hand you?"  
"Oh, yes," Sam said, his attention returning to the sealed envelope that he had placed in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and stared at the lip. What would Bilbo want them to know. Surely, after seeing Pippin and Merry running out of the room he would know it wasn't them...He slowly brought his finger across the top and ripped it open with a sense of suspense that seemed to linger about the parchment as he brought it out.  
"It's Mister Bilbo's that's for sure. But it's some form of elvish, I think. I can't read it Mr. Frodo, sir." Sam searched the paper over many times. "Wait, I can read a bit... this part here says Sam...I know it's my name, I asked Bilbo long ago...and this is yours...I can't really read anything else...I'll try...Si...SilfÄ— but I'm not sure..."  
"What would Bilbo possibly want us to know about water?" Frodo asked, taking the letter into his hands. "I...I can't read this, Sam. It's too complex..." Frodo lowered his eyebrows suspiciously. "Why would Bilbo send me a letter I can't read?"  
"I don't know...maybe he thought you knew it...or maybe he wanted to write you a letter that no one else could understand and forgot you couldn't read it...or maybe he wants you to go to someone who can read it...like...that elf! Mr. Frodo sir, I think we should go see Bilbo right away sir!"  
"Of course, Sam," he said and he slipped the letter into his inside vest pocket. "Let's go see him right now."  
"Okay Mr. Frodo." Sam also slipped the recipe within his pocket. Frodo lifted Merry with some difficulty and Sam took Pippin. They walked out of the Green Dragon and headed down to Bag End.  
  
A/N: Okay dokay, that was the end! Well, the next chapter is almost as weird as the first, just to warn you, and there is a stupid attempt at a new character! YAY! Yes, Sam said "by thunder", forgive me for that. Originally, Pippin got dead drunk and started slurring all his words to the point of non-understanding...but we changed that. And I know, Sam is mean. My portrayal. Forgive me. REVIEW!!!!


	2. Kidnap

A/N: Hey! Sesha here! This second chappy! Hope like, work really hard to make. 'Kay, Sesha lying... not work hard at all. Mostly make up stuff off top of head. Sister work hard. Pulling out hair trying make Sesha's work make sense. Well, not lot say, so carry on, mellon nin!

When they finally arrived to the Baggins' residence, the moon had already gone a ways up in the sky. It was a difficult trek back to Bag End, the two... occupied hobbits slipping off the two's backs so many times that the great urge to leave them lying on the lane had to be discarded several times. The moonlight shone against the curve of the Hill, and the bushes and flowers surrounding shimmered in the silver rays. Sam and Frodo made their way to the front gate, depositing their burdens onto the cool softness of the grass.  
Frodo walked slowly to the front door, but stopped short when he noticed that it wasn't fully closed. He eyed the door warily before reaching out to push the door open further. It creaked open with suspenseful slowness. The room within was disheveled; maps and pages from Bilbo's narrative carpeted the floors. Frodo rushed in filled with a sense of dread for his uncle.  
"Bilbo!" he yelled, running through each hall and glancing through each door. Not a sign it seemed was there of his beloved uncle, nor the creature that may have abducted him. Each room was as ransacked as the first, littered with clothing; the sheets in the guest rooms were tossed to the side along with the pillows, stripped of their linen cases. No where, absolutely no where, could poor Bilbo be found, but the whole house was searched twice before the passions of young Frodo seemed to cool. It was then, that Frodo knelt in the study, close to tears.  
"Mr. Frodo, it's okay, your Sam is here. I'm sure Mr. Bilbo is fine. Won't ever let no one mess with him, no sir. Always liked to be in charge. I feel sorry for that kidnapper now!" Sam put as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible, trying to give hope to both him and his friend. "Why, I bet even now he's giving them a whole lot of trouble, yes sir."  
Frodo laughed gently at Sam's attempt at enthusiasm, but the pall of worry did not lift from his face. "I'm still afraid, Sam," he said, wrapping his knees insecurely with his arms. "What if something horrid has happened to old Bilbo?" Tears streamed down the length of his cheeks. "Who would want to hurt him, anyway?"  
"I don't know who, but I don't think they were after him. It looks like they were searching for something, like they wanted something and couldn't find it. Oh, I hope Mr. Bilbo is well!"  
"So do I, Sam," Frodo said. He stared pensively at the surrounding messiness. What on Earth could Bilbo give them? Could it be that people outside of the Shire have heard of his supposed endless wealth?  
"Mr. Frodo...do you suppose the letter and the elf have something to do with this? I mean, first we leave the house, then the elf comes with a letter we can't read and says it's from Mr. Bilbo, and then we come back and Mr. Bilbo is gone! What do you think, Mr. Frodo?"  
The elf...the elf? Frodo lifted his head up in sudden realization. He had been to preoccupied with the thought of the great recipe to really notice at first, but Merry and Pippin had chanced upon mentioning the elf once or twice during their conversation. Along with...with Gandalf! But, first, what did they say about the elf. Pippin's boyish face appeared in his thoughts, still inebriated and red in the face. What had he said?  
"'...He was like, this tall...'Cept taller.' They didn't say anything about what the elf was doing in the study! Ai Elbereth! Sam, I think we should wake Merry and Pippin up." Sam looked at him like he had just said something stupid.  
"Mr. Frodo, sir," he started, "I don't rightly know what's going on in your head right now, but I can't see what good that does. What can those two drunken blighters do to help us?"  
"They can tell us about what happened in the study, Sam. Maybe we can figure out what the elf and Gandalf were there for. Maybe we can find some clues!"  
"That's some sharp thinking there, Mr. Frodo. Let's go get them now."

* * *

The two hobbits left Bag End in search of their sleeping companions. The moon cast an eerie glow about the place and didn't help to quell the fear rising in both hobbits. They searched for Merry and Pippin in the soft grass outside Bag End, but to no avail. Said hobbits were nowhere to be found.  
"Those two must have gone off home," Sam thought aloud, scratching his head as he looked at the two grooves of flattened grass that marked Merry and Pippin's previous beds.  
"Well, I suppose we should go after them then. In the state both are in, I doubt they'll get far. Besides, they didn't have that long of a head start, right?" Frodo asked, staring intently at the ground.  
"I guess so, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied. Stepping their way onto the road, the two hobbits stared straight down to search for any sign of their inebriated companions. Finding nothing but an empty lane that made a bend around another knoll, they decided to follow the two's supposed path. Pippin's house was nearest, so it was Pippin's house they went first.  
The stroll was not as pleasant as usual. It was an exceptionally long walk to the Took residence, and their hearts fell when they didn't find their friend in his house or on the road to it.  
"I doubt they would want to make their way to Merry's house, would they?" Sam asked Frodo, wondering if they would even be able to get that far without passing out on the side of the road. Frodo just shrugged, doubtful that the two would try, but nevertheless, the predicament was very important and all situations had to be thought out. So the two made their way to the road to Merry's house, stopping halfway and shaking their heads and turning back when the two weren't even spotted on the road or any place near.  
"Sam, I think something bad happened," Frodo said, apprehension growing. "I hope they're all right..."  
"Knowing those two," Sam said, finger on chin, "they probably aren't in too much trouble...just yet. They're probably wandering around somewhere."  
"Yes...wandering..."  
There was a sudden splash of water from behind, where a thick growth of trees were and puddles from recent rainfalls gathered in slight basins in the dirt and grass. Sam and Frodo turned toward the sound, trying to glance into the trees. A shadow against the shadows seemed to loom in the gaps between the trees.  
"Come out!" Frodo shouted as confidently as he could. "I...we don't want to hurt you!! If...if you come out right now...we..." his voice faltered as the figure in the shadows moved out into the light of the moon. Both hobbits let out a gasp of surprise. (GASP!)  
The silver rays of the moon reflected against the shining platinum of elven hair, and a sparkle of white light seemed to illuminate from the figure's being. Pippin's elf, the elf of the pub, stood there before them, his fair face a mixture of amusement and friendly surprise.  
"It's nice to see you again, my nameless friends. Though I would prefer a kinder greeting." His smile widened at the embarrassment that now ruled both hobbits features. "Now what are you doing out here at this time of night? Are you looking for Mister Frodo and Sam? I still haven't found either." He looked confused for a second, but then smiled again as if nothing had happened. "I promised Mister Bilbo I'd find them, and find them I will, but until then," he looked at the hobbits with interest, "I shall escort my friends to whatever their destination may be."  
Frodo's eyes widened greatly and he rushed over to the elf and clutched the silver of his clothes. "You know where Bibo is?"  
"Isn't he at home?" the elf asked, looking over both hobbits' worried faces. He then looked back down the path the two had come, as if trying to see Bag End and Bilbo sleeping soundly within it. His fair face carried a look of concern. "Where are you, mellon nin?" he quietly said to himself.  
"That's what we'd like to know," Sam said, stepping forward, putting a consoling hand on his companion's tense shoulder. "Why does Bilbo want us found?"  
He looked at them confused and then smiled...again. "You two are Misters Sam and Frodo?" he asked cheerfully, as if forgetting the whole Bilbo business. "I don't know why Mr. Bilbo wanted to talk to you...did you give yourselves the letter?"  
Sam had a sudden realization and searched through his pockets for the slip of paper. He pulled out his hand when he found it, unfolding the paper, but realizing after a moment that it was half of the mushroom stew recipe. The elf eyed it curiously.  
"Old pieces of paper will deteriorate if you leave them in your pockets, Master...Frodo? Sam?" Sam gave a curt nod in the elf's direction. "If I had handed myself a letter to give to myself, I would have read it right away." The elf said. It wasn't directed toward anybody, he was musing to himself.  
"Well, we did try to read it," Sam said, paying more attention to his pockets than to whom the elf was talking to, "but it was written in some weird elvish. We couldn't understand it."  
"Elvish? I didn't know that Master Bilbo knew elvish..." he looked reflectively up at the stars. "Are you sure it was elvish? I know Bilbo knew bits, but...something isn't right here...a whole letter in elvish?"  
"Is that unbelievable?" asked Sam.  
"Unbelievable, no, I suppose not..."  
"Alright..."  
The elf looked over Sam thoughtfully. "Why did you stop searching, master hobbit?"  
Sam shrugged and pulled out the remaining two slips of paper in his pocket. He unfolded both sheets, discerning the curved elegance of the elvish writing from the unsightly scrawl of dear old Uncle Bingle's.  
The elf looked at Uncle Bingle's recipe curiously. "What's that, master hobbit?" he asked, indicating the sheet of paper in Sam's right hand. "That's not the letter, but it must hold great importance for you to be carrying it around. I assume the other old sheet of paper was the other half. Can I see? It must be very interesting!"  
"I'd like to let you," Sam said, looking down at the ripped halves, "but I'm not keen on risking losing it after what happened today."  
The elf looked at him downheartedly, but then recognized the other slip of paper in Sam's left hand. "Is that Master Bilbo's letter? Can I see it?"  
Sam handed the only non-crumpled bit of parchment he had to the elf, stuffing the recipe back into his pocket.  
The elf looked it over carefully. The hobbits watched him with mild concern. He finally looked up from the sheet and at the apprehensive faces of the hobbits. "It's elvish, but it's of a very old form...I doubt even the scholars of Imladris could make out most of this...let me see...'Dearest Frodo, ... ... ... ... honey... ... ... sweet water ... Greenwood... elves... the wizard of the north... ...' I'm sorry, that's all I can make out..."  
"Why would Bilbo give me a letter I can't read, let alone any elf?" asked Frodo, wondering aloud.  
"Are you sure this is in your uncle's script?"  
"I don't know how Bilbo's handwriting is in elvish...but some of these letters do look like Bilbo wrote them..." Frodo said, examining the parchment.  
"...Well..." his gaze was once again directed to the stars, "the best thing to do would be to ask Master Bilbo, but...you don't seem to know where he is... what happened? Why don't you know where he is?" he looked at the hobbits inquisitively.  
Frodo's eyes watered somewhat with new tears at the thought of his missing uncle, and he wiped away those that brimmed his lids. The elf took a look down at him and put a confused, but consoling hand atop his curly head.  
"It's okay, little one. Bilbo is safe. I can feel it. I promise I'll help you find him. My promise is my bond, and the only thing that can sever it is death. And even past that if I can help it." He kneeled down and looked Frodo straight in the eyes, smiling softly. "But you need to tell me what happened. I can't help if I don't know all the facts."  
"Well, Mr. Bilbo was at home sleeping and when we came home he wasn't there no more and the house was all messed up!" Sam said, all in one breath and very very fast.  
"Messed up? Was there a struggle, or did it look like someone was looking for something, or both?" The hobbits looked unsure. "It's alright. Why don't we go back to Bag End and have another look around. See if who or whatever was in there left some clues as to its identity." He sent another glance back down the path to Bag End. "The trees are restless; something is about to happen."  
Sam gulped at the elf's remark. As the tall figure turned toward the Hill, Sam tugged at his cloak with a sort of anxiety, remembering the two hobbits of which they were searching for.  
"Is something the matter, master hobbit?" he asked, noticing Sam's anxiety. His gaze didn't stay long, for something it the boughs of a nearby tree caught his attention. "Túle eth!" (come out!) He yelled at the tree, pulling a long dagger from somewhere unknown. When nothing happened, he walked to the tree and jumped into its branches and out of sight.  
A fair struggle seemed to occur in the leaf-shielded boughs of the great oak, shaking the green bits from their places among the extended twigs. Sam and Frodo heard several squeals and shrieks, along with the yell of the elf, then, everything went silent. Sam stared up from his spot just yards from the tree, trying to discern any familiar sight from amongst the shadowed greens and browns.  
"Hey! Mister elf! Are you okay?" Sam yelled into the green depths. Just then the elf dropped onto the path. He smiled at the hobbits again, but something was different, more unsettling about him. "What happened? What was up there?!" The elf stood straight and tall and loomed over the hobbits. He was an imposing figure.  
There was a gentle smile that ruled his lips, but there was an odd look to it. He put a hand on Sam's head. "Do not worry, little hobbit. Not a thing was there. Only a very large cat, whom I have taken care of."  
"A cat?!? Must have been a very very large cat!!" Sam exclaimed, unbelieving. He would have challenged the elf's story, but something told him it was best not to. "Seeing as that's over with, I think we should go back to Mr. Bilbo's, like you said."  
The elf took another grin and turned toward Bag End, his figure a little stiff. Sam could have sworn he heard him muttering about something that sounded a lot like "paranoid hobbit"...but he wasn't sure, and he did not feel the same friendly light that he had moments before.  
Something was very wrong here, and Sam wasn't one to lead Frodo into danger. He looked worriedly at his friend, torn between protecting him and following the elf out of curiosity. Frodo looked at Sam and gave him a weak smile. "We better get going, Mister Frodo," Sam said softly. Frodo nodded in agreement and both followed the path back to Bag End. 

A/N: Sesha here say, that was nice chappy, ne? Elf nice, ne? Have no name. Sister will make Sesha make name, but no yet.

Want make Sesha happy?

Press

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	3. Clues?

A/N: Okay, people who would ever read this, This is the third chapter, kay, and, um, There is an elf and a lot of confusion occured between me and my sister...yeah. I'll bet you can tell if you read it. kudos to you if you can name them all. Alright. Read and Review.

Bag end when they entered was in the same state of disarray as it had been when they had left it in search of Mer and Pip. The elf pushed all papers out of his way with a merciless boot, and scanned over the many rooms with only mild interest. It only took him several moments to "investigate" the area before he turned to Frodo and Sam, smiling.  
"It seems your uncle is quite the sloppy hobbit," he said condescendingly through a smile, "I can't make heads or tails of what happened here. Perhaps he just left to go search for his little nephew?" The look he sent Frodo was kind enough, but the feeling behind it was disturbing.  
Frodo frowned. "As sloppy as Bilbo can be, this was not how it was before we left. I need to find my uncle, Mr..." he paused and took a moment from his concern to chuckle. "I believe we have yet to learn your name, sir."  
"Elemmírë," he spat out, "you may call me Elemmírë."  
"That's a mighty pretty name," Sam said, muttering the name beneath his breath over and over so to memorize it. "Does it mean anything?"  
"Star jewel," the elf muttered almost inaudibly, his back to them, apparently scanning the room over again.  
"Well, Elemmírë...sir," Frodo started, watching as the elf toed through a pile of papers, mostly maps, that was piled up against the wall. "We really need to either find my uncle or my friends Merry and Pippin."  
"Your friends are lost too?" he asked with a hint of knowing amusement in his voice. "My my, it seems our little hobbits have a problem with losing things. How did these two...Merry and Pippin happen to get lost, now?"  
"Well...they were drunk and they passed out..." Sam started, thinking over the past events.  
"Drunk!" the elf started laughing. "No wonder they're lost!"  
"Well, then we dragged them back here and dumped them out on the grass..."  
"The grass outside? Let me take a look!" Elemmírë ran out, Frodo and Sam following as fast as their hobbit legs could take them. When they finally reached the door outside, they were surprised to find the elf sitting on the fence staring at the stars.  
"Um, sir," said Sam, staring at the elves slim back as he contented himself with the starlight sky, "what about Merry and Pippin?"  
"No clues left," he said, indicating the area on which Merry and Pippin had rested without moving removing his eyes from the heavens. Indeed, the ground there was trampled by footprints of several hobbits and a dog or two.  
Sam glanced at him with a curious expression, following his stare up at the sparkling stars above. "Are you looking at something, Mr. Elemmírë?"  
"Eärendil is shining exceptionally bright tonight."  
Sam stared at the skies as if he knew where the star Eärendil was. He searched through the dark ether for a bright star, but was unable to discern one from the rest.  
He was about to ask which one it was, but stopped himself when he saw Elemmírë. The elf was silently viewing the skies and it was best not disturb him. After the incident at the tree this was the first time that the elf was relaxed and happy. Sam wasn't sure, but for the first time in a while, he also felt that glow emanating from the elf.  
Though the pleasantness of the elves face seemed to last for so long a time, the happiness was soon cut short by a voice coming from the direction of the road opposite of which they have arrived. Elemmírë turned his head to the noise, that glow coming to an abrupt stop, the content look on his face replaced by another smile. Frodo frowned, shaking his head lightly. Compared to the look he had just moments before, the grin seemed too forced, horribly unnatural. It seemed nothing more than a mask now, hiding behind its gentle curve a face as stolid as the mountain stone.  
A wagon drawn by two snow white horses came into view in the distance. It was laden with several covered packages and on the top of the pile was a single silver helmet. It reflected the yellow glow of the two lanterns hanging from posts on the sides of the wagon and the moonlight seemed to be pushed away from the buggy. On the front sat a figure, still too far to discern anything other than the fact that it wasn't a hobbit. It yelled, "Onward Ho!" and shooed the two horses on with a carrot dangling from a fishing pole he held in his left hand and a whip in his right.  
Though Frodo and Sam could see little, the elf, who, as other elves, has a keenness of senses unmatched by many, was looking at the distance with a slight frown on his face. "What old man comes to this grassy place at such a time in the night? Look at him, with a beard long enough to match a dwarf and whiter than the spring clouds. What an unsightly person."  
Sam and Frodo both smiled enthusiastically. "It might be Gandalf!!! I bet he can help us!!!" Elemmírë merely shook his head softly. The hobbits calmed down and once again looked worried.  
"Gandalf..." the elf muttered. "Of the white council, Gandalf? Mithrandir...I'm afraid you're much mistaken my friend, unless your wizard friend has a helmet and wears a hood."  
Frodo and Sam looked at each other in confusion. What would an old man... any old man besides Gandalf, be doing out here in the middle of the night? Both hobbits searched their minds for someone that might fit the description. None, save Gandalf. But perhaps Gandalf could be wearing a hood and have a helmet? That was a possibility... but it seemed unlike him. Then again, how well did they really know Gandalf? By the time they decided to just wait for the old man to come closer he was already near enough.  
As Elemmírë had said, there was a very strong resemblance to a dwarf that the man had. He probably would've been mistaken for one, had he not been almost as tall as the elf beside them. He was wearing a long silver hood, with a cloak of shimmering blue that was caped over his broad shoulders. His long white beard was tucked into his silver-buckled belt, and his eyes glimmered a twilight blue from the shadow of his drawn cowl. He and his wagon stopped before Bag End.  
"Well hello there my little friends. How fare thee tonight? Would you like to buy my wares? I have good armor!"  
Frodo stared open eyed at the sight before him, thinking of a polite way to decline the offer. He, nor anyone of the hobbits in the Shire thought they had any need for armor. Besides, what idiot of a man would try to sell to hobbit folk in the middle of the night? Sam seemed bewildered as well and the elf didn't seem too amused, though that same fake smile still held his face.  
"Well now," the man continues, seemingly oblivious to the reactions of his 'buyers'. "I have some really good strong chain mail. Nice and light, dwarfish metal, elvish make. Course, can't help that the elves had a take with it, but...Hey! An elf? What's an elf doing out in the middle of...here? Anyway, I got some really good swords too! This one," he pulled a short one blade sword from out of a box in his wagon, "is exceptionally well made. Very cheap too, one night sale. What do you say?"  
"Well," Frodo started, scratching his chin, unsure of what to make of the whole thing, "well, I'm not to sure if I-"  
"Come on, kiddo, my wares aren't so bad. And to prove it to you, I'll give you this free gift!" He handed Frodo a dagger made of a white metal and covered in dwarfish runes. "Try it out and then you can buy some more stuff from me when you realize how very well made my items are!!!"  
Frodo took the gift without complaint, though he was rather flustered and did not want to inspire anymore sales attempts. He took a confused and tired glance at the dagger and put it in his belt, hoping not to damage anything. Already this man was a bit of an annoyance to him, and it was barely a minute since they had first met!  
Elemmírë looked warily at the old man. Already he had insulted the elves! He kept that fake smile on his face but growled lowly at the man. If anyone noticed they didn't show it. All attention remained on the figure in the wagon.  
"What dwarf raised you?" Elemmírë asked, his voice just a bit angry, his smile just barely maintained.  
"If I told you, it wouldn't matter, now would it? It's not like you'd know her anyway. At least it's better then being raised by whatever you were raised by! With that attitude, you won't be getting any of MY wares!!! Hey there buddy!" He turned his attention towards Sam. "You can also get a free gift!" He pulled out another dagger, this time in yellow. "This here is one of my best selling items, and it's a specially made dagger! Take it, you can tell it's very good!"  
Sam extended a quiet hand to receive the dagger and examined the hilt and blade of the weapon. It was very pretty, indeed it was, and polite hobbit that he was, Sam lacked the sense of Mr. Frodo. He liked the gift and he was careful when he placed it ceremoniously into his belt as his friend had done before him.  
"Well, little man, I best be on my way now. Bad vibes all around here, you know?" he whispered the last bit to Sam and gave him a wink, "but if you want to buy more weapons or armor, I am the best at it! You just buy from me, you know!" He started to laugh and again picked up the pole and whip and pushed his horses along. When he got further from them, he yelled back, "Buy from me, you know where to find me, don't you? Come buy from me!!" The last they heard of the man was his laughter as he rounded the bend and disappeared behind the hill.  
"These are mighty nice gifts," Sam said, looking from his dagger to Frodo's, "but I don't know where to find that man again, if I ever need some again."  
"Sam, why would we need some? You know that nothing bad ever happens in the Shi-"Frodo stopped himself short as he remembered the problem concerning Bilbo and the two younger hobbits. "I hope that they aren't in too much trouble..."  
Elemmírë seemed to have read Frodo's mind and he chuckled. "Yes, that dwarf-spawn seemed to have made us forget for a few minutes there, hadn't he? Your missing friends, Merry and Pippin were they?"  
"Yes, yes they were...what do you think we should do, Elemmírë?"  
The elf tapped a slender finger against his chin in a thoughtful gesture, then suggested a search of the Shire, or the road surrounding. Both hobbits, though excited, were rather tired from their three earlier treks, the first being one when their burdens were much heavier. They weren't too happy about the idea of walking around through the whole Shire, let alone outside. Elemmírë, though the hobbits didn't voice their troubles, shook his head, understanding the looks on their faces.  
"Perhaps a good night's rest will be better for the both of you." Both hobbits nodded their heads in happy agreement. "I shall keep guard for you." Elemmírë once again sat himself on the fence and the last sight the hobbits saw of him was Elemmírë staring up into the stars again, content.

* * *

Frodo had invited Sam to stay over the night, and Sam agreed to do so and was located in the guest room in the house. While the hobbits spent many contented hours asleep, it was cut short by a thud outside that forced Frodo awake from a very comfortable sleep.  
He moaned softly, cursing to himself at whatever was out there that would dare disturb his precious sleep. He got out of bed and grabbed the dagger that the old man had given him. He left the room and headed towards the entranceway, not even caring to wake Sam.  
When he slipped out of the front door, the first sight that greeted him was Elemmírë, sword drawn, standing before a cowering heap with curly, dirty-blonde hair...  
"Aiya! Yé! Utúvienyes!" (Behold, I have found it!) Elemmírë said, smiling at Frodo. He pointed at the shaking pile at his feet happily and left Frodo to deal with it, his gaze once again on the now fading stars in the sky.  
The person that was slumped in the grass lifted an eye toward the Bag End resident, trembling from head to toe. But, at the sight of Frodo stooping curiously above him, he jumped up in excitement and grabbed the hobbit's collar. It was Pippin.  
Pippin realized that it was Frodo that pulled him up and gave the elder hobbit a hug of relief. He eyed the elf suspiciously, going so far as to give him the 'evil eye' but his quarry didn't notice. When Frodo didn't comment, Pippin sent a confused glance in Elemmír's direction and back at Frodo. He had that 'what-the-hell-is-happening-here' expression on his face.  
"Pippin!" Frodo said, trying to push him away. "Where have you been? Sam and I have been searching for you and Merry-"Frodo paused and searched around. "Where is Merry anyway?"  
"Well...Frodo...um...well, I don't know...I woke up there...and, well, Merry and I decided to go home and we were going to his house and we went into the woods on the way to his house, and then he just disappeared!!! And then...something hit me!"  
"Something hit you?" Frodo asked in disbelief.  
"Yes...well, I think something did...My head really hurts."  
Pippin's fingers were holding the back of his head while his face contorted into a pained expression. Frodo lifted an eyebrow and made his way around to see what was wrong. Prying the younger hobbit's fingers from the spot, he gasped aloud at the sight that waited beyond.  
"Pippin...do you know what this is?!?!" Frodo asked the frightened hobbit. Pippin shook his little head. "I've only seen this in one of Bilbo's books. I'll be right back Pippin!" he yelled back as he rushed into Bag End.  
As Frodo rummaged through the many scattered books in Bag End, Sam awoke, coaxed from sleep by the noise. He walked out, yawning and rubbing his eyes, into the hall, where Frodo sat, thumbing through pages in one very large book.  
"Mr. Frodo, what're you doing up so late...so early?" Sam asked, noticing the growing light filtering through the half-opened window. He took a glance down at the pages of the book and jumped back in surprise when Frodo suddenly stood up and rushed out the front door carrying the book with him as best as he could.  
"There it is, Pip," Frodo said, pointing to a picture in the book, which he supported on his knee. "It's a curse sign. It says here that curse signs are left like a scar to evidence the casting of an unfriendly spell on the subject. It appears you've been cursed."  
"A curse sign? Oh no! Does that mean I'm going to die, Frodo? I don't want to die!" Elemmírë looked at the hobbit with mild amusement. Then at Frodo with his usual mask. He hopped off the fence and looked at the frantic hobbit's head and laughed.  
"It isn't too serious, little hobbit," Elemmírë said, an amused look on his face. "It is a curse, yes, but not life threatening."  
Pippin seemed relieved. He smiled at the elf and, taking a closer look, recognized him as the one from Bilbo's study. "Hey Mr. Elf, it's nice to see you again!" Elemmírë seemed confused for a second, but he smiled once again.  
"The same to you, little one," he said.  
Frodo looked curiously at Elemmírë. "What does the curse do? Is it bad?"  
"It seems a little more like a suffer curse," he replied. Pippin began shaking again beside him, and he chuckled. "Not like that, child. If it were so, you would experience the painful effects by now."  
"Then what is it like, Mr. elf?"  
"Examine the markings," Elemmírë said, running a gentle finger over Pippin's nape. "What do they look like to you?"  
"Excuse me, mister elf...but I really can't see the back of my head!"  
"I wasn't directing my question to you, child," the elf spat out, "but to Mr. Frodo here at my side. Mr. Frodo, would you care to answer?"  
"Well, um, I'm not really too good at stuff like this... what does it mean Elemmírë?"  
"Doesn't it resemble a bird?" Elemmírë said, pointing at the beak and wings. "None of it is a solid shape, all are line segments, which means that it is temporary. What do birds stand for in your culture?"  
Frodo examined the markings. "It looks like a chicken to me. What do chickens stand for?"  
"Um...food?" Pippin asked, not wanting to be left out of the conversation of which he...or his curse, was the subject.  
"Do you like food?" Elemmírë asked, his tone a bit irked.  
"Oh yes, I like food...do you happen to have any? I haven't had first breakfast yet."  
"Let's keep to one subject, shall we?" Elemmírë said, holding back the urge to slap the little hobbit straight across the back of the head. "If you like food, chances have, that that's not what the curse brings."  
"...um... OH NO!" Pippin paled, "What if it means that **I **become food...or even worse, I **can't** eat food anymore!?!?" Pippin started to panic.  
Elemmírë rolled his eyes, very un-elf-like for sure, but wholly appropriate for the situation. "The curse sign is shaped like a **chicken** young bastar- I mean master. Food altogether would be perhaps signaled by something else." 

"If chicken were to signify food, I'd suspect it to shape a dead chicken, or roasted or..." Frodo stopped when he noticed Pippin's tongue lolling hungrily from his mouth.  
"So... maybe I'm cursed with having to eat roasted chicken every meal for the rest of my life?" Pippin looked up at the elf hopefully.

"NO!" Elemmírë exclaimed, looking up to the skies as if he could draw some solace from the stars. But, when he looked, he noticed nothing. No stars were in the sky, for the sun was rising ever higher from the distant horizon. Elemmírë sighed. "Perhaps, if it actually was a chicken, it would signify fear. Sometimes fearful ones are acknowledged as 'chickens' are they not?" Elemmírë asked, his voice tinged with sadness. He was looking now downward, searching no more for unseen stars. The sun had chased them away.  
"Fear...fear isn't so bad, is it?" He looked to Elemmírë then to Frodo for a response, but both avoided his gaze. "It...it's only temporary, isn't it?"  
"Fear can be a horrible thing, young master," Elemmírë said, an odd sparkle in his blue eyes. "Fear during inappropriate times can be the greatest obstacle."  
Pippin looked downhearted. His nervous fingers started to search his pockets... When he realized that, he remembered something. "Hey Frodo...do you know where I might have put that recipe? I think I lost it..."  
Elemmírë raised an eyebrow. "Recipe?" He looked at Frodo. "What is he talking about, Master Frodo?"  
"A recipe for the best ever mushroom stew!!" Pippin declared, raising a hand in the air to show its greatness. "Too bad I lost it." He muttered quietly.  
"Good thing I found it," came Sam's voice from behind, where he stood, smiling from the entryway of Bag End.  
"You found it?!" Pippin asked excitedly. "Then let's make some, right away! Frodo won't mind lending us some food, will you Frodo?"  
"He doesn't need to lend it," Sam said. "It's Mister Frodo who needs it anyway. Like I told you afore when you were drunk, he's ailing."  
"Drunk? I was never drunk! I bet you had me confused with Mer...ry." Pippin saddened at the thought of his absent companion.  
"Where is the little blighter anyway?" Sam asked, glancing from person to person.  
"Well, Sam, Merry is... well, Merry is..." Frodo didn't know how to tell Sam. Elemmírë once again looked to the sky, though what he was now looking at, nobody knew. Pippin coughed in the background.  
"So none of you knows where Mer is?" Sam asked, a slightly worried tone now edging his voice.  
"Well...no."  
"Well, what're we all waiting for?" Sam asked, rushing out. "We better go find him, if even Pip don't know where he is!"  
Elemmírë looked at Sam with mild amusement. Then he started to laugh. Long and hard. Sam stared at him indignantly.  
"What's got **him** at it?" He whispered to Frodo, pointing as inconspicuously as possible at the elf before them.  
"I don't know...he's been acting a bit strange, hasn't he?"  
"I swear," Sam said, "after he killed that big cat last night he's been acting weird."  
"Well, weirder than usual," Frodo corrected him.  
"Got a point."  
When Elemmírë stopped, he looked towards Pippin and bent down, looking him straight in the eye. "Do you remember exactly where you lost your friend, little one?"  
"Somewhere in the forest, I think," Pippin said, an odd fear in his eyes. The curse was beginning to take effect. "What if he got eaten, or something?"  
"Well, then we'd be searching forever," Elemmírë said, laughing. Pippin paled.  
"But, but poor Mer!"  
"Pippin, ignore him. Do you think you can remember exactly where?" Frodo said.  
"Well, it was on the way to his house, because I was locked out of mine..." Pippin said, his expression strained, "...Lost my key. Wasn't very smart of me, was it? I think it happened..."  
"Can you take us there?" Sam asked quickly, hoping to stop any story Pippin might find himself starting.  
"Sure, I guess," Pippin said. He scratched the back of his head. "Do you think we'll find Mer?"  
"Yes, and stop scratching that, Pip, you might get it infected!" Frodo admonished. Pippin quickly pulled his hand back, Sam watched in bewilderment.  
"Did you know you had a chicken on your neck, Pippin?" Sam asked, coming behind Pippin and peering at his nape.  
"Sam, I think it's best if we not talk about it." Frodo whispered, moving next to him. "I think it's upsetting him."  
"I can't see the chicken!" Pippin exclaimed.  
"It's very lovely," Elemmírë started, "it has a bluish tinge to it, makes it look exotic."  
"Please, can you stop it, sir!" Frodo said, just a little annoyed. "I'm sure we don't want Pippin trying to twist his head around before we find where Merry is."  
"Oh yes, and then I can continue?" the elf asked with curiosity, "because it really does look like a really intriguing chicken!"  
And so, there continued an odd little sight. Pippin was doing as Frodo had suspected and began twisting his head as best he could, the elf was laughing and continuing his descriptive narrative of the scar, joined with Frodo's head shaking and Sam's wondering look.  
  
A/N: Okay, that's it for now, friends. Don't have much to say right now, so bye. Review.


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